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30 July 2016

When we first talked about
moving to the Czech Republic, I was dead set on living in a flat in
Prague. And not just any flat. In my dreams, this flat would be in
Vinohrady or Dejvice or, even better, in the
trendy-but-not-too-dodgey bits around Letná . The flat would be large,
of course, with many delightful historical features and would manage
to have both a lovely view and not too many stairs.

For a number of reasons
(including, but not limited to the price of large, delightful flats
in desirable neighbourhoods), we ended up instead in our village and
it's taken some time for me to fully embrace our rural setting.

What started as acceptance
when I saw our happy kitties racing up the apple trees and a very
satisfied L building bonfires and tending to his unruly tomatoes
eventually evolved into genuine appreciation when I started planting my own things and (perhaps more crucially) Smalls started
running, jumping, and creating his own very loud soundtrack. Thank
goodness that no downstairs neighbours' hearing was harmed during
Smalls's toddlerhood.

But now, this appreciation
has blossomed into love.

Smallest, the newest
addition to our family, was born into a lovely April. The canola
fields boarding the village were in full eye-searing yellow. But inside the village, the cherry and apple trees
offered a more sophisticated picture. The days were sunny and the
evenings only a little crisp.

And I discovered that I
have an adorable baby who will sleep if pushed around and around and
around the village in his pram.

So, we see the village in
the morning light. And the afternoon sun. And during the last
glimmers in the evening.

I've memorised not just
our neighbourhood, but also the old part of the village, the very old
part of the village, and both of the newly built sections. I've
explored the paths over the fields and started preliminary
investigations on the nearby villages.

L should be pleased to
note that cost of the new-secondhand pram that I insisted on buying
is down to less than 1.5 CZK per kilometre.

These walks are easily the
highlight of my days and I've really enjoyed getting to know the
village.

And while I've been out in
my explorations, the village has also gotten to know me.

Older women stop to
discuss how Smallest is growing. Does he sleep at night? Has he
gotten over his cold? And the strangely popular; Are you
breastfeeding?

I always exchange a
friendly 'Dobrý den!'with the blue-haired
boy down the road who seems to be out at least once a week applying
new decals to his car. He always gives a cheery wave while
contemplating where to best put 'Rides only for cash, grass, or ass',
but mercifully does not inquire about my lactating abilities.

'It's going to rain. You'd
better walk quickly!' paní učitelka from
across the street tells me as she gathers in her laundry.

'It's going to rain,' says
the white haired man from number 94, as he, as always, takes his bike
for a walk up the hill.

'It's going to rain,' I
tell Mr. R's dog.

Mr. R's dog is almost certainly the scruffiest mutt
in the village and, while occasionally I see him with Mr. R., more
often than not, the poor chap is gamely taking himself for a walk.
Or, somewhat humoursly, he joins other owners with their
well-groomed, well-bathed dogs on their walks. ('It's not mine!' one
woman felt the need to declare a few weeks ago when she, her dog, and
the tagalong went past).

Mr. R's dog nods at me and
continues sniffing his way home.

While it's nice to get
advanced warning of impending meteorological events, by far the best
benefit of village life is the number of friends I now have in the
village. Friends, who often sit in their gardens or on their
balconies in the pleasant summer evenings. Friends, crucially, who
invite me to stop for a glass of wine and a chat while Smallest
(sometimes) sleeps in his pram.

And finally, getting to
know the village better also means that one knows who to contact if,
say, one should be thinking about which route to take, dinner plans,
schedules in September, what to do over the weekend, and how to find
meaning and purpose in life BUT NOT, importantly, about the exact
location of the keys to the front door.

While I didn't
particularly enjoy going from neighbour to neighbour with my very
helpful father-in-law asking if they had a very tall ladder and a
desire to help us break into my house via the top floor window, it
was somewhat gratifying that two of the three neighbours I tried came
ready and armed with their ladders. The third wasn't home.

Before help arrived, I had
a rather anxious fifteen minutes of peering through the patio doors
wanting so very desperately to be on the other side. There was
something about seeing our living room from the (literal) outside
that really brought to the forefront of my mind the thought that
there behind that stupidly locked glass door was, unquestionably, my
home.

So, you can keep your Art
Nouveau metalwork and the tree-lined avenues with hip cafes. Smallest and
I have another few laps around our village to go before it rains.